Living
by Weirdly
Summary: That prophecy...you know, it could be taken a different way than 'kill or be killed.' What would happen when no one really needs to be killed? How would the classically cliched Final Battle go? HG.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but if anyone plagiarizes this fanfiction, I swear there will be hell to pay.**

**A/N: I just found this in one of my files on the computer. Woot! How cool is that! I really like this, even though it's _another_ Final Battle fic.**

The clearing that the battle stood upon was desolate and brown, but in the distance misty hills still rested, undisturbed by the raging death at their feet. Fifty feet from where Lord Voldemort surveyed his Death Eaters' progress in the self-proclaimed Final Battle, lush green grass still poked juicy tendrils above the earth. Worms and insects still wriggled in their earthy home.

Harry Potter noticed this. He stood on a slight hill, away from the battle, saving his strength for the inevitable confrontation with Voldemort. Green eyes saw the death splayed out before him; but he also realized the life. Friends of his died. Remus Lupin was killed by Peter Pettigrew's silver hand; Nymphadora Tonks was killed soon after by a stray Avada Kedavra when she fought all the more fiercely for her lost love.

But out there—beyond this field of death—was innocence; and joy; and life. Those earthworms were barely meters away from evil, and yet they went on doing their job of making the soil good.

Behind Harry, Ginny Weasley stood, offering him silent support. She looked at her love, and looked at the good earth; and felt _it_. As a woman, how could she not? She looked at the dirt, and imagined herself with a child in her arms; holding him, comforting him; feeding him; playing with him. Up and up the feeling grew inside her, and she placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You'll get through this," she said. "You'll get through this, and live. Know why? Because I want little children with red hair and green eyes running around a yard while we watch them and laugh."

"Yes," Harry agreed, wonderingly. "New life—I must live so others can live—"

"And because you love, and people love you," Ginny added. She hugged him. "I love you."

"I love you too, Gin-bug," Harry said. He turned back to the battle, still raging, and sighed. "Here he comes. Get away—"

Indeed, Voldemort approached. His skeletal form parted the crowd easily, no one hindering his path to Harry.

"Potter," Voldemort hissed, and he drew out the name as an insult. "Let us…fulfill that prophecy for once and for all, shall we? No Dumbledore to save you now. He's dead."

"He's dead…" Harry repeated. "Everyone will eventually be dead. It's just a matter of time."

"I don't have time for philosophical discussions, Potter!" Voldemort snapped. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry merely ducked, and the green light sailed over his head.

"But there's life," Harry said, as if he had not been interrupted. "Life and love. Have you never known them?"

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Harry ducked again.

"I've never killed anyone," Harry informed Voldemort. "I do not intend to."

This caused Voldemort to stop in his tracks, along with everyone else on the field.

"What?" Voldemort hissed, incredulous. "Not kill me? You're giving yourself up?"

"Oh, no," Harry said. He laughed, then; laughed as if the whole world was there for his amusement. " 'Neither can live while the other survives.' You've only ever survived for your life, Tom. I intend to let you live. And I shall live as well."

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about, Potter?" a Death Eater stepped forward to say. He ripped his mask off his face as he went; it was Lucius Malfoy. "Nonsense, again?"

"_Avada Kedavra,_" Voldemort said, almost carelessly, and killed Malfoy. "What are you saying, Potter?"

"See the hills?" Harry merely asked. His face was serene. "See the hills, and the grass? The rocks, the sky? The clouds and the birds and the fish? See all the life?" He laughed again, and this laugh was soft; filled with pure joy and wonder at the fact of existence.

"Are you high, Potter?" Voldemort hissed finally, after a long silence.

"There are children out there," Harry continued. He gazed into the distance. "My children. And there is one other. One who lives more than most. That one is you." He finally turned his gaze on Voldemort, but just as quickly, his eyes found Ginny.

"_Avada Kedavra,_" Voldemort cast, desperately. The curse went askew, and sailed into the sky, harmless.

"Ginny," Harry said. "Come here." Ginny practically ran to Harry's side.

"What, love?" she murmured.

"Would you be willing to marry me, and raise Tom Riddle as our own son?"

"Of course," Ginny answered. They had previously discussed this, though they had not disclosed their plans to anyone else. "It would be my pleasure."

"Then—" Harry put away his wand and concentrated.

A wave of joy—pure, unadulterated happiness—swept through the crowd. Everyone felt it. The Order of the Phoenix were heartened, and the Death Eaters cowered in fear. But the Dark Lord's reaction was not expected, as he bore the full brunt of the emotion.

Slowly, he shrunk. His features regained the beauty they had held when he was far younger, and then he—well, he de-aged. Soon he was a mere babe, crying piteously.

Ginny rushed to the pile of robes that the child lay in and picked it up.

"There, there," she crooned to it in the deathly silence. "Mummy's here."

On that little hill, Harry drew himself up.

"All of that which made Lord Voldemort evil is gone," he proclaimed. "He is now only an innocent child named Tom Marvolo Riddle. He is no longer Lord Voldemort, nor will he ever be. He will live, and I will live, thus fulfilling the prophecy. Neither of us will merely survive." His tone was filled with scorn at that reprehensible word, _survive_. "Ginny and I are getting married and raising him, along with any other children that may come. Tom will be treated as any normal child. Do you understand?"

"Yes," came the rather pitiful reply of the crowd.

"Lord Voldemort is dead," Harry proclaimed. "Tom Riddle is in his place, and Tom Riddle is nothing more than a baby. So, _do you understand me_?"

"Yes!" the crowd shouted. "Yes!"

"Good," Harry said. "Now—" Tears fell from his eyes. He turned away, and his voice became muffled. "Let us mourn our loss of those who have died. Friends, enemies—all those who have lost their lives will be mourned. For who are we to judge who shall die and who shall live?"

With that, Harry took Ginny and Tom in his arms, and Disapparated, nary a _pop_, to begin a new life. A new life of joy and happiness at existence.

They lived happily ever after.

**A/N (#2!): Now, how cool is _that_? Who thought of Voldemort never even dying?**

**I actually got the idea from an E. Nesbit short story, so I should give credit, but it doesn't show up much.**


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